A shame, really
by potatomaker
Summary: Ginny waited for the sounds. As screams filled the air once more, she sighed, there they were. She looked at Harry expectantly. “Do you hear it Harry? Do you hear? After they’re done, he’ll come for you Harry.” She counted off on her fingers.


She knew he would come for her. She could still feel him in the dark corners of her mind, lurking about, calling to her. She fingered the collar of her high necked robes remembering.

Any sense of security that she had, that she was free of him, had left long ago. It had been the summer after first year that she realized this. Thinking that the destruction of the diary would finally allow her to sleep, she had looked forward to returning to the burrow. But her desires proved to be no more real than the whispers of a dream.

That first night she had been aware of him. He had peered at her over her bed, for how long she didn't know, until she was suddenly wakened by the pressure of his hands covering her mouth. He had stared at her, breathing heavily, gradually increasing the pressure on her mouth until she looked properly frightened.

"Ginevra," he had hissed. "Don't you forget. I am still here." His eyes bored into hers. His fingers dug into the skin around her mouth making her want to cry out, but no sound would come. Frantically, she pawed at his hands, both around her mouth and choking her neck, trying to pry them off.

"You will not be rid of me, stupid, foolish girl," he spat out in fury. "They cannot save you, cannot protect you, from me." As he increased the pressure she grew more and more faint, finding it harder to breathe suffocated by both his hands and fear. Desperate, she pleaded with her eyes, begging him to stop, tears streaming down her face.

"Don't forget," he hissed once more, leaning even closer until their noses were almost touching. He searched her eyes, making sure she understood. With a satisfied nod, he pulled back, removed his hands, and disappeared.

Finally able to breath once more, she let out deep ragged breaths. Her body shook with violent sobs though she struggled to control herself, worried she would wake up her family. Turning on her side, burrowing under her blankets, seeking solace in sleep, but afraid of what she would see when she closed her eyes.

She couldn't tell them. If they knew he was back, they would make her stay home, keep her from school, her friends…constantly watching her with guarded eyes; they would keep things from her. She would be on the outside again; separated from the people she loved by the threats of a shadow.

Each time she tried to put it out of her mind, he would come back, warning her that her insolence would come with a price. Each time he had left a trail of bruises around her neck, creating a macabre sort of necklace, symbolizing his control over her. She had taken to wearing anything that would conceal the wounds, citing it as protection from the damp English air.

She had been foolish at first. She believed that Tom would only ever punish her but she learned quickly not to anger him. It had been subtle at first; only the chickens in the garden found with their throats slit. Then one morning, Molly Weasley had slipped on a broken step on the porch, wrenching her ankle, citing her absentmindedness as the cause. The next time, it had been Ron nearly breaking his neck as he tripped down the stone steps into the cellar.

Accidents it would seem all, save that Ginny found herself exceptionally tired the morning of each incident, curiously noting her dust covered hands each morning.

The day after her father was taken to St. Mungo's for burning his face and hands with battery acid from his flying car, Ginny found a set of soiled robes in her closet. Unable to remember having worn this particular set, she inspected the pair, noting a slightly acrid smell. Horrified as she found the cuffs had been burned away and were stained with oil, she realized the promise in Tom's words.

Using her as an instrument, he had shown that he did not take Ginny's silent refusals lightly. He had proceeded to do the cruelest thing to her that he could: make her doubt herself again. Now she could no longer trust herself, afraid of every thought, knowing that Tom would hear it too.

She stopped sleeping, hoping that he would only take advantage of her prostrate form because he knew that while in her nightmares, she could not revolt. But it provided only temporary relief. Her mother would find her laying in the cellar or garden, but could never rouse her immediately and took to fondly telling others that her Ginny slept like the dead.

Ginny would look on miserably, praying in her mind for some relief. She grew quieter and more withdrawn, finding little comfort in her own home.

_She's growing up_, they would say, noting her reserve. _Our little Ginny is becoming a mature young woman._

Inwardly she screamed, looking at her family with haunted eyes, begging, pleading with them to notice, to save her. Desperately she wished, hoped for them to guess, to notice the war being waged within her.

But the only war that they noticed was the one around them, consuming the wizarding world, and it kept them from seeing their _little_ _Ginny_. A prisoner of the very feelings that they sought to protect her from, she saw them looking out for the causes of despair and death when they should have been looking in.

Hoping at last that if she gave in fully to Tom, he would leave her family alone, she submitted herself to him; praying that if she did what he told her, she would be able to find some relief from the daily struggle, her mind and body exhausted from the effort of resisting him.

Sitting on the cool stone floor of the dungeon she remembered this.

"Ginny?" rasped a weak, broken voice.

She shifted her gaze to her left where her family lay, well what was left of them…

Bill had been the first to go, found in an alley way behind Gringott's, torn limb from limb. Charlie had been next. Anxious to bring news to the Order, he had been killed by the fire of his own Dragon. _Poor man_ they had said. _He should have remembered to remove the blood from his pockets_, they had said as they shook their heads in sympathy. In his excitement he had forgotten to remove the stains of blood from his cloak, a scent which set the dragons off; odd really because there hadn't been any cuts on his body. _He had always been such a meticulous fellow_.

The twins had come next, always so careless, they had left a Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes' Fillibuster Firework next to the drapes in their workshop. It had gone off in the middle of the night burying the house in flame, trapping the sleeping forms of the twins along with their wives and children.

Now next to her lay Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Her parents and Percy were currently being introduced to the many variations of pain. Hermione would go next, she knew, most likely treated to the attention of the Death Eaters, being far too impure for the hands of the Dark Lord himself. _Then Ron will go next_, she thought idly, twirling her hair,_ perhaps forced to watch what they did to his Mudblood girlfriend. _Then he would be given the choice of ending it himself, the one benefit of being pureblood, though their pleasure would first be gained by making him watch all of their careful ministrations on Hermione. _He'll want to kill himself by then_, she thought knowingly.

Harry will come last, the Dark Lord taking his time to be as thorough as possible.

Then he would come for her.

"Ginny, Ginny," Ron rasped. "Are you alright?"

She smiled. "Yes Ron."

Images of the past flitted before her eyes. She sat unmoved by the sounds of the screams, her mind consumed with her thoughts.

_It was a shame really, _she thought.

It made her laugh, at first it was quiet chuckle that almost sounded like she was choking, then it rose, bubbling out of her, spilling into large guffaws that shook her body, her face contorted in mirth and maddened glee. The fact that a brain as big as Hermione's hadn't been able to deduce that the Dark Lord's greatest instrument of destruction had been sitting with them at meals, sleeping in the same house, attending _Order_ meetings; that they had never thought to _think_, to _consider_ that the one person, besides Harry, who had been possessed by Voldemort might have had something to do with it. They had thought it odd that Voldemort could know of their plans, could anticipate them but they hadn't thought to ponder why. Now the punishment for such folly was at hand.

Abruptly the screams stopped.

The door to their cell opened quickly and two filthy trolls came in, one grabbing Hermione by the hair, dragging her to the door. She flailed helplessly, struggling as her skin was being torn as they pulled her across the jagged stone floor. Ron and Harry lunged towards her, tears leaking from their eyes. The second troll shoved Harry back against the wall, his head hitting the stone with a sickening crack. Ron, trying to reach Hermione desperately, made a movement to push past the second troll. A beefy hand caught at him as he too was pulled towards the door, which closed behind them with a clang.

Ginny waited for the sounds. As screams filled the air once more, she sighed, _there they were_. She looked at Harry expectantly. "Do you hear it Harry? Do you hear?"

But Harry didn't respond, his form hunched over as he retched the contents of his stomach, his hands stained crimson with the blood from his head.

"After they're done, he'll come for you Harry." She counted off on her fingers. "Then when he's finished with you, he'll come for me." She nodded her head wisely.

"First he'll come for you, then he'll come for me."

Fin

a/n: as per usual, let me know what you think: Good/Bad/Evil

p.s. I believe in review karma: what goes around comes around. hehhe


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